Hazen fog was suddenly sucked into a vacuum before the mage's nova unleashed. With an ear-shattering boom, fod was released in a mushroom-like cloud; the landscape erupted in a conflagration, consuming all around it. Trees bent and broke in the gale, uprooted and flung rocks and soil into the atmosphere, blocking out the rising sun. Darkness. Countless men scrambled about, tending to the wounded; the ringing in my ears blocked out cries of pain and anguish. Amongst all the flames and concussions, I wiped an agitating drop of sweat from my eye, caused by the early morning humidity.

There was no night and day here, no time; nothing like this mattered anymore. In this world dictated by destruction and justice, there was only darkness. A constant battle took place, not only on scarred terrain, but in the mind. Where once it was filled with insurmountable dreams and endless possibilities, there was now a hollow shell, cracking under the leaden foot of cold-reality. The tired visage of a man beaten by the world had now replaced the one youthful expression that was so apt to show on my face. What is honor, what is dishonor? What is right, and what is wrong? There is no correct answer. These are words merely defined by those in power. These are words defined by those fat, obnoxious men, who hide behind books and philosophy. These are words, whose sole definition waits to be written by the swollen hands of so-called "men" who willingly confine themselves to their castle or keep. I'd rather make my own decisions, I'd rather determine my own fate, than let it be preordained by "men" who have never really lived.